


Serpents of Roses

by Orange_Coyote



Series: Take A Hit On Love [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, All Human AU, Cas is an assassin basically, Dean is still getting into all kinds of trouble, M/M, Short Chapters, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is given a simple assignment and he's never questioned orders before. But this time around, nothing goes as planned.<br/>Dean Winchester is the last person to pretend he and his dad have had the perfect relationship. But when the man is suddenly murdered, and a handsome journalist becomes a close friend, Dean finds his entire world turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castiel: It's Time

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired vaguely by the show American Odyssey on NBC, particularly by the relationship between Ruby and Harrison.  
> Each chapter will switch between Cas and Dean POV.  
> Since each chapter is so short, they're all going up today. Yay!

Castiel Novak lay in the freshly made bed, his back muscles bunching uncomfortably beneath him as he stared blankly at the white ceiling above. He couldn't help feeling a sense of relief, despite the horrific things he had done, the things he was keeping from his current lover. His current target.  

Dean Winchester had been on the watch list for as long as Castiel could remember, at least since he'd begun his reluctant employment within Crowley's security company... 'security' being code for 'secret assassins for hire'. To be given this assignment was an honor, a clear sign of how much his boss had come to trust him over the years. Usually someone of a higher caliber would have been given such an important case, but for some reason both Alastair and Uriel had been given a pass, despite Alastair practically begging to be given the job.  

So Castiel should be feeling some sort of pride, some sense of accomplishment. Not regret, not fear, not relief that he had let Dean walk out of his apartment without a single scratch on him. Well, not caused by Castiel anyway. The scratches he had received, courtesy of a jumping from some other enemies of his, Cas had washed and bandaged like the kind, worried lover he'd been pretending to be for the last few weeks.  

But now... Castiel raked his hands across his face and sighed, letting his eyes slip shut. Was he even pretending anymore? He'd come to care for the green-eyed man he'd been sent to murder. Which, obviously, broke the cardinal rule of hitmen the world over.  

It had all started so simply. Intercept Winchester at one of his usual late night diner rendezvous, initiate a friendship, stay on his back, keep tabs on his whereabouts and going-ons, and when the time came to pull the trigger... keep it clean and untraceable. It was only supposed to be a few days, a week at the most. But every time Crowley had given the order to strike, Castiel had convinced his superior to hold off with some reasonable enough excuse. A week had turned into two, which became three, and now he was pushing the edges of a full month.

His phone beeped from the small bedside table to his left. He flung out an arm and pulled it toward his chest, already having an intuition of exactly who the message came from. He let himself breathe, a long sigh of air released from his lungs. There was no avoiding this.  

Castiel opened his eyes, squinting as his pupils readjusted to the lighting of the room. He brought the phone to eye level, sliding open the message from Crowley.

_Report, Jimmy._

Sliding from the mattress and slipping on his shoes in one fluid movement, perfected by countless repetitions in other circumstances, Castiel stuffed his wallet into his back pocket, threw on his treasured trench coat, and left the room.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Making his way to Crowley's office provided a half hour of blissful distraction, the crowded city streets keeping him on his toes as he drove down busy avenues toward the less populated part of town where the brick two story building Castiel had come to know like the back of his hand stood unobtrusively beside a family owned bakery. He'd been there plenty of times for a nice cup of coffee after a stressful meeting with his boss.

Cas shook the memories from his head and realized he had already pulled into a spot in front of the building and parallel parked all within the time frame of his mind wandering down memory lane. Funny how some things happened without even realizing them.

He checked in with the secretary seated at the front desk, received the cursory order to go on back, and walked straight into Crowley personal office without any pretense of caring whether or not he seemed happy with the current situation.

Crowley greeted him with the usual snide smirk and a cordial enough hello. Which instantly left Castiel feeling on edge.

"You've finally deigned to grace me with your presence," Crowley commented dryly once Castiel had taken a seat on the couch directly across from the one he lounged casually on. "I hope you have something positive to report this time," he added.

Castiel resisted the urge to sigh. But only just barely. "I can't do it yet," he said, to Crowley's obvious displeasure. "He was just attacked by some of Lucifer's men. Not to mention he's been questioned by the Feds and the local police have him on tight surveillance. It's too risky. We would risk exposure."

Crowley chuckled. "What's the matter, Sugar? Can't handle a little heat?"

"I will not take any unnecessary risks."

"You know, you've been out on this job for weeks now. Plenty of opportunities to get the job done. So, why haven't you? What's holding you back?"

"I just informed you of the current circumstances."

"Yes, indeed you have." Crowley then took a sip of the drink he held in his left hand, an amber liquid Castiel assumed to be brandy. "Funny how something always happens to come up, isn't it?"

The assassin shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "I'm reporting in from the field. That's my job."

"Yes," Crowley allowed. He paused, tracing a finger around the rim of his glass. "But I wonder... Is it also your job to fall in love with your target?"

"You're ridiculous," Castiel countered smoothly. He could feel droplets of sweat following the valley of his spine, dripping uncomfortably between his shoulder blades, but he didn't show any physical signs of how easily Crowley's words had affected him. How much did the man know?

"Am I?"

"Yes."

Crowley stood from his seat, moving to lean casually against the wall opposite Castiel's position. He remained silent for a full minute, eyeing his employee with a mix of assessment and disdain. Castiel stood to his full height under the scrutiny, determined to show his boss exactly how ineffective such intimidation tactics proved against him.

"You're a killer," the older man pointed out.

"Maybe I've changed. Maybe I'm not a killer."

Crowley approached, crowding into the younger man's personal space. His breath left a sour taste on Castiel's lips. He laughed and stepped back, apparently enjoying the fiery disapproving defiance glowing within Castiel's eyes.

"Do you think you belong with him?" he laughed. "That he'll _save you_?" Crowley's voice took on a challenging edge, his cynicism on full display. "Love you?"

Castiel didn't say a word.

Crowley took his silence as acquiescence. He grinned maniacally, leaning close to Castiel, whispering loudly into the quiet room, "We both know who you are. Say it."

"... I'm a killer."

"That's my boy," the older man crooned. He took a step back, swigging the last of his drink. He pinned Castiel against the wall with an immovable gaze. "King's Point, 6pm. End it. Or I will."


	2. Dean: Is He or Isn't He?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a long talk with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, these are short chapters.  
> Also, Garth is the parallel to the character Bob on the show I was inspired by (American Odyssey airing now on NBC). I considered using Ash instead, but honestly I feel more comfortable writing Garth.

Dean left Garth's tiny, overstuffed apartment feeling an irrefutable sense of guilt and a healthy dosage of grief. Garth had returned home after running some recon to find his girlfriend laying dead on his living room sofa. Recon that Dean had asked for. He had called Dean in the same instant and Dean rushed over to the scene to offer something, condolences or apologies.

It didn't help that Garth was convinced Castiel was somehow responsible. Ever since Dean had run into the other man and subsequently became friends (and later a sort of maybe couple, if their occasional bouts of sex were anything to go by) with him, Garth constantly insisted that Cas was hiding something. Dean took his words with a grain of salt. Garth could be a bit... intense at times, to say the least, and he'd hacked enough websites to have a controversial view on every event known to man. Conspiracy theories at every turn? Just another aspect of the isolated man he'd come to befriend. Dean didn't hold it against him.

But Dean just couldn't imagine Cas doing anything of the sort. He showed compassion and understanding when Dean talked about his father's recent murder. His eyes shone with tenderness whenever they were alone. He helped Dean question potential witnesses, follow leads, evade arrest, and more, all without complaint or demanding answers Dean wasn't ready to give. Cas had become his trusted confidant. No way anything fishy could be going on there, no matter what evidence Garth had to suggest otherwise.

So yeah, Garth had been right about one thing. Cas had a past. One that included a murdered best friend and a change of identity. But he'd confronted the man about that right off, and they had discussed it fully. Cas had told him everything and Dean believed him. What else was there to do but move forward?

Dean let the train of thought go once he hit the street. He needed to be aware and alert of his surroundings. Thinking about how great Cas was wouldn't be any help.

A few minutes later he approached his trusted Impala, the classic car admittedly a bit unrealistic for city life but a vehicle he would die for before leaving behind nonetheless, parked on a side street nearby. He checked it over for any dents or scratches. People could be dicks. As usual, he found her to be in pristine condition, if not a little muddy around the rear bumper. An easy fix.

Just as he slipped into the driver's seat of his Baby, rubbing his hands together to maintain some semblance of warmth while he waited for the heating system to run, his phone chimed with a new message alert.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," he muttered aloud. The text was from Cas.

_Meet me at the fountain at King's Point. 6 o'clock. Don't be late._

_Yeah, okay._ Dean texted back, all the while wondering what the random request could be about.


	3. Castiel: This Is A Stupid Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a mental crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember exactly which city I had originally placed this story in, so let's just go with the flow and not be too mad at me if I make some inconsistencies later on.

Castiel paced the length of cobbled stones leading to and from the stone fountain centered within the city's busiest park. The large amount of people would hopefully keep him hidden well enough from the security cameras placed at intervals around the plaza, which meant it would be less likely that any of his meeting with Dean would reach unwanted eyes.

He must have gone insane in the last few hours, asking Dean to meet him here. To meet him at all. They never pre-arranged spending time together. This sudden text would undoubtedly bring up some sort of suspicion on Dean's part. God, this had been such a _stupid idea_.

But laying in Dean's bed that morning, looking up at the ceiling after a fantastic night of fantastic sex, Castiel had felt something he never would have expected from his assuredly broken soul. He wanted... _needed_... to tell Dean the truth. The entire truth. Maybe Dean would never forgive him. Maybe the green-eyed man would tell Cas to get lost and never even dream of coming back around again. But maybe, said the small strain of hope wrestling within his chest, just maybe Dean would understand. Would want to stay. Would want to help.

 _"What? Do you think he'll love you too? Save you from this existence you despise?"_ Crowley had goaded him earlier. _"How romantic."_

It sounded ridiculous, even to Castiel's own ears, but deep down, that was kind of exactly what Castiel hoped for.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The amount of sunlight suffusing the air slowly dwindled as the afternoon came to an end and evening took the reigns. The hour of six drew near.

Castiel watched as several mothers began herding their children out of the park and into minivans or other various suburban vehicles parked nearby. Some of the kids whined loudly, some went without complaint, some even looked asleep on their feet. A part of the assassin idly wondered what it would be like, having children of his own. But the sheer impracticality of the thought quickly pushed the notion from his mind.

His mission had always been to protect Dean. Sort of. Protect him from being taken out by another group, at least. Crowley had a lot riding on this hit and he'd be damned if some amateur working for some low rate agency got the credit (and the prize) instead.

But as days passed and Castiel saw the aspects of Dean no written report could describe, the urge to protect him had turned from forced, deceptive concern to sincere, instinctual care. The man he'd been assigned to kill had wormed his way into Castiel's armored heart. With his forest green eyes that gave off emotion the way a homemade roast filled a house with its familiar, comforting scent. With his crooked grins and self-satisfied smirks. With his bad jokes and sexual innuendos. How he kept Castiel at arms length but still answered every "where have you been?" and "what did they say?" with full honestly, like they had known each other for years rather than weeks. Like Castiel could be trusted. Not to mention the way Dean knew exactly how to take him apart when they locked horns in the bedroom, knew just how to hold him together afterward.

He could no longer fabricate a reasonable enough excuse to deny the obvious truth: he'd fallen in love with his target. Damn it.

And that's why he now stood beneath the protection provided by the awning of the small cafe situated beside the fountain, his stomach churning mercilessly once he spotted Dean heading his way. Their gazes connected across the small distance between them, blue meeting green in a way entirely unique to any of their previous encounters. Dean gave a small nod of acknowledgment along with a secretive upturn of his lips. Castiel endeavored to return the gesture, but honestly he had no idea if his mouth had obeyed his brain's instructions.

Come hell or high water, Castiel would tell Dean the truth. And ensure the other man listened.


	4. Dean: Wait. What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns the cold, hard truth.

Dean's wariness waned a bit when he and Cas locked eyes. The guy looked nervous, sure, but not like he's out for blood or anything. Garth's plea to be careful around Cas, warnings more like, ran through his mind like background noise as he stepped within hearing distance of the other man. He could trust Cas. _Would_ trust Cas.

Cas wordlessly gestured to take the conversation somewhere more private, which happened to be a public restroom placed just a few feet away. Dean thought it a bit odd but rolled with it anyway. "Must be serious," he remarked aloud as he entered the small room. Cas didn't respond.

Dean turned suddenly when he heard the click of the deadbolt ramming home. "Cas, what the hell?"

Blue eyes met his own, a look of resigned sadness showing for a second before steely determination took over. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I never meant for things to be like this."

"Cas, you're scaring me. Talk to me here. What's going on?"

The man in question released a long breath. "I couldn't go on hiding the truth from you any longer."

"Is this about your past? I thought we covered that already. You don't owe me any explanations, Cas," Dean emphasized. "It's not like we're getting married or something."

"Dean, I need you to listen to me. I need you to hear me out. Can you do that?"

Dean nearly made a joke about all the times Cas had often cited his big mouth as the source of all his troubles, but the look on Cas' face, the brows drawn tight and the lips resting in a flat line, convinced him to hold his tongue. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you need."

"Thank you. This may not come as much of a shock to you, knowing what you do about my past. I have an... unorthodox form of employment."

"What? Cleaning peoples' sewer drains?"

"Dean, no interrupting."

"Right. Sorry."

Cas gave a fond smile before his expression melted into something far more serious. "I'm having difficulty discerning how to phrase this correctly."

"Just say the words," Dean murmured encouragingly.

After a pause of a few seconds more, Cas spoke. "I am an assassin. And I'm meant to kill you."

Dean's mouth nearly dropped open of its own accord. "Wait. What?"


	5. Castiel: Truth Be Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gives Dean the basic truth and deals with the consequences.

Castiel took refuge in the fact that Dean didn't immediately run off screaming for police assistance once the dreaded sentence left his lips. No amount of mental planning could have prepared him for this moment. Every time the scenario and the possible consequences ran their course in his mind, not once had Dean stood resolutely still and silent after the revelation.

"I do not plan to harm you, let me assure you of that now. The man I work for, he made a deal with a senator who's afraid of you unearthing his dark secrets. I was given the job of throwing you off track and then taking you out of the picture before you would be missed. But as the days passed, as I spent more time alongside you or merely in your presence, I realized I could never purposefully hurt you, let alone murder you."

Unsurprisingly, Dean's stoic silence didn't last long. He pushed off from the wall he had previously crumpled his weight against, his gaze spitting flames in every direction. "So what? You slept with me to gain my trust? You pretended to care about my dad's murder to keep me thinking you... I don't know... that you fucking cared? Is that it?"

"No!" Castiel shouted. Shaking his head at his recklessness, he lowered his voice back to an appropriate volume. "No. Admittedly I did primarily interact with interest in your life to gain entrance to your circle of friends, but by the time we first participated in sexual intercourse I had developed a level of true feeling toward you. I couldn't help myself."

"How am I supposed to believe you? How do I know this isn't a line of bullshit to make me an easier target in the future?" Dean paused, the anguish in his expression switching into annoyed fondness with the swiftness of a lioness pouncing upon her prey. "Alright, Cas, you got me. This is just some elaborate prank to get back at me. I'm always on your ass telling you to relax for once, and this is your misguided attempt to screw with me. Nice job. You really had me going there for a minute."

"Dean, as much as I wish I could inform you that this is in fact an attempt at humor, I truly am an assassin and I was truly given an assignment to rid you of the world." Castiel watched with a dull ache in his chest as Dean's expression of tentative hope reformed into a look of pain.

"Fuck," Dean breathed. "You're serious."

"Yes."

Dean threw his fist against the faux granite countertop of the sink, causing the mirror above to rattle in its frame. "Shit. Fuck. No. No, this can't be happening. I _trusted_ you, Cas. Even when Garth told me all this crap about you, showing me all these articles from your past." The man chuckled humorlessly. "Who am I kidding? I'm _exactly_ the person this shit would happen to."

"Please do not blame yourself for my deceit," the assassin murmured softly. "None of this is your fault."

"Fuck. You." Dean snapped. He stepped forward, one foot pointed toward the door; his only escape route laid behind the man he least wanted to be around right now.

Before Dean could bring his left foot into position with his right, Cas stood firmly blocking his path to the exit. And he held a pistol in trembling hands, aimed directly at Dean's heart.


	6. Dean: You've Gotta Be Kidding Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean faces the barrel of a gun, and not for the first time.

"Are you serious? Are you really fucking serious right now?"

Here Dean stood, obviously the ultimate dope, actually believing Cas wouldn't hurt him, would never hurt him. Especially after all they'd been through together in such a short, action packed period of time. He thought maybe Cas was being sincere when, just five minutes ago, he had said he didn't plan on harming Dean. So yeah, he was an idiot. But there was no way he'd die in a dingy public bathroom at the hands of his (ex?) somewhat boyfriend.

"Put the gun away, Cas. You don't want to do this."

"I apologize, Dean, but I cannot holster my weapon until I am fully convinced I can trust you to act rationally in light of this information."

"Sorry to point this out, buddy, but _you_ are the one with a pistol aimed at my heart. Maybe you should rethink what you consider rational behavior." Cas didn't budge at the barbed remark, other than a barely noticeable twist of his lips.This was going to last a while, Dean figured, so he might as well get comfy.

He put his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender, sliding down to sit on the gritty floor with his back supported by the equally gross looking toilet stall. He'd just have to throw these clothes away and take an hour long shower later, assuming he got out of this alive and with access to his belongings. He sighed and placed his hands on his thighs as he stretched his legs out in front of him, his gaze drawn to the wear and tear of the denim. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Of course he'd be wearing his favorite jeans.

"And how exactly am I supposed to prove I'm trustworthy?" Dean inquired wearily. "Cut off a finger? Kill someone's dog?"

Cas snorted. "No."

"Then what?"

Cas stared at the wall wordlessly for so long Dean feared the man may have thought hard enough to implode his brain inside his skull. And the unwavering glance making Dean a mixture of uncomfortable and inexplicably turned on wasn't helping matters any.

"Cas?"

The inquiry brought the assassin out of whatever thoughts had occupied his mind. His gaze changed as he moved his eyes to look at Dean, turned somewhat softer. More like he actually saw Dean compared to the way he had seemed to be looking straight through him moments before. "We need to leave," he announced.

For the second time in less than an hour, Dean found himself stupidly replying, "Wait. What?"

Cas lowered his weapon slowly, as if he were reluctant to do so but saw no better option available at the moment. His brows scrunched up in that way that reminded Dean of a baby bird about to screech for its mother. Giving no further explanations, Cas turned away and strode toward the door.

Dean scrambled to his feet and, in his haste to follow the retreating assassin and garner further answers, didn't even complain about the disgusting filthy germs definitely coating his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's where we end things with our boys. For now, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've decided to write this as part of a series. This is basically the 'current' events, and there will be a set of chapters that take place before and after. Not everything will be answered in this story, so some things will seem vague or out of the blue.


End file.
